


The Snow Before the Storm

by theparadoxicalfox, TrulyMightyPotato



Series: Royal Flush [45]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Frostbite, Hypothermia, MatPat looks at Gar and immediately decides to adopt him, Working Too Hard, World War I, borderline child soldiers, cuddling for warmth and comfort, look it's very cold, no fighting present but it is talked about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29602308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theparadoxicalfox/pseuds/theparadoxicalfox, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrulyMightyPotato/pseuds/TrulyMightyPotato
Summary: November 1917. The Great War is raging, and fate ties two strangers together for far longer than either of them would expect.
Series: Royal Flush [45]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/699969
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	The Snow Before the Storm

_ November 1917 _

MatPat scrambled for a loose piece of paper, one that didn’t have hundreds of scribbles on it already from his team trying to figure out the latest batch of encryptions. He scribbled down the newest transmission he’d captured, wishing not for the first time that he had a better grasp on all of the languages he was hearing. The fact that this one was in English almost certainly meant it was a diversion or a trap, but it still might provide insight into the other messages they were intercepting.

He cursed softly as his elbow jostled the table and sent his almost-full mug sideways onto the table, sending tea spilling over everything. He gathered up what he could, grimacing at the ink running on some, and turned to gently set them out where they could dry undisturbed.

He glanced up as he turned back to his work, noticing one of the commanding officers looking at him with a thoughtful expression.

Another transmission came through, so he turned back to work—this time setting the teacup Stephanie had shipped him gently on his desk.

♣♥♠♦

MatPat rubbed at his neck as he trudged back to his bunk, absently wondering if any mail from home had arrived. It had been a few weeks since he’d last received a letter from Steph, but he couldn’t send her one until he knew what their new address was.

She’d definitely been rather put out by having to move all by herself, he acknowledged. He couldn’t blame her; they’d known they were moving to Boston about a month before everyone had pressured him into enlisting, thanks to Jason’s good word getting him a transfer to the city’s force. They’d promised the detective work would still be there when the war ended, so Steph had gone ahead with the move. He’d yet to see the house she’d picked, but it had seemed lovely from what she’d described. He wouldn’t really find out for a few years… he  _ hoped _ it would only be a few years, and that this blasted war wouldn’t drag on forever. Not when it had already been going for far too long.

Someone pushed past him and he mumbled an apology, stepping to the side of the narrow gap between tents a bit more. Quarters were always cramped out here, though the messages he got from the front lines made him appreciate being a few miles back. At least here he wasn’t in the middle of the fighting, though there was still plenty of dying being done as the temporary hospitals were overflowing with injured and dead.

One got used to the cries, screams, and smells of death.

MatPat slipped into his tent, too exhausted to bother saying hello to his tentmates—besides, most of them were asleep. The obvious exception was Carlin, who was reading letters from his brother.

“Patrick,” Carlin greeted, glancing up, “you look awful.”

MatPat nodded, reaching for something slightly more comfortable to sleep in, and a clean pair of socks. “Fifteen hours today.”

“Your team works way too hard.”

MatPat gave a tired grin, pulling his dirty clothes off. “How’re things back home?”

“Oh, not too bad, all things considered.” Carlin nodded at MatPat’s bunk. “You’ve got a letter, too.”

MatPat dropped onto his bunk, canteen in hand, and took a long drink of the achingly cold, metallic water, picking up the letter with practiced ease. He hardly had to glance at the name on the front to realize it was Steph’s handwriting, and that there was a new address. Boston. She’d safely moved, then. That was a relief.

He paused to pull on a heavy sweater with uneven knitting and two different length sleeves, sighing with relief as the comfort from home settled over his cold and exhausted body. The thick wool immediately began to warm him up, which, given that it was November, was fantastic.

Carlin mentioned something about their tent getting full again after Lennings’ transfer, but MatPat was already opening the letter and completely missed it, and Carlin didn’t repeat himself.

It didn’t matter much, in any case, not when he finally had a letter from Steph.

_ Matthew,  _ it read in Stephanie’s achingly familiar handwriting, making him wish he was home so he could wrap his arms around her and bury his face in her hair-

_ Matthew, _

_ I gave up on those apartments finally. I did manage to find us an actual house, though. There’s not much space between us and the neighbors, but we don’t share walls, and we have an actual yard, so I’m considering it a win. It’s got a good kitchen and living room, though the ‘dining room’ is really just a corner in the kitchen. Two bathrooms! Three bedrooms, too; and one of them is rather large. I’m not sure if we should save it for a nursery one day or if we should turn it into a library, but that’s something we can decide when you’re home. _

_ (It’s a good thing you have a good job waiting for you here, Matt, or we’d never be able to afford this for any prolonged period of time.) _

_ I’ve been getting to know the city. I’ve picked up a few odd jobs, just to help make ends meet until you’re home, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. The closest library needs help cataloging their collection, and so many of their old notes are completely illegible from water damage, so it will take a while. Maybe I’ll still be doing it after you get home. _

_ I’ve stumbled across a book club, too, which I think I’m going to join. It’s not terribly difficult to keep up the house with just myself, and there’s not much in the way of yard work or gardening to be done this late in the year. Plus, it will force me to socialize, which is really something I need to do without you dragging me to activities. _

_ I’m lonely, Matthew. I miss you. I have all these boxes to unpack and a house to decorate, but I don’t want to do it all myself. This is our house, we should both have a say in things. For now I’m doing what I can, but I expect you to help when you come home. On a related note, why do we have four cookie jars? _

_ I’ve started asking around for good restaurants in Boston. I’m already planning for your return. I’ve heard of a few good ones around the Common, though the price tag for those is significant. A Korean-American restaurant in South Boston has come up a lot. The Tiny Box, I think it’s called? I don’t have time for the next little while, but I want to go check it out. Supposedly it’s run by a woman and her younger son—rumor has it her older son is posted in the same general area you are! Maybe you’ll run into him. Fischbach. I’m not sure if Mark or Thomas is older. I’ll have to ask when I go visiting. _

_ (If you do run into him, let him know he needs to send a letter home, because his mother has been complaining about not getting one for so long that the neighbors are complaining to me about it. Apparently the younger son has been in and out of the hospital a lot in recent months—I imagine she wants reassurance that at least one of her sons is healthy.) _

_ I considered sending you some cookies, but I don’t think they’d last the time it would take for them to get to you. You’ll just have to let me know when you’re coming home so I can have a big batch waiting for you. _

_...I know you probably won’t be celebrating Christmas out there, but I hope you at least get some proper rest. I’m not sure I’ll really be decorating, since I won’t have anyone to celebrate with, but I’ll put out those candles you love so much. It’s not the same as having you here, but... it will have to do. _

_ All my love, _

_ Stephanie _

MatPat folded the letter and slid it into the small box where he kept all of Steph’s letters before flopping backwards on his cot and pulling up his blankets tightly around him. He’d have to write her back in the morning. He was too tired to do it now.

♣♥♠♦

There was a new face in the communications tent. Their commanding officer was saying something about how this kid would be an assistant (and in subtler terms, responsible for making sure they were all taking care of themselves) but MatPat was far too distracted by the fact that the new face in front of him definitely belonged to someone far too young to be involved in a war.

It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d seen a face that young out here, but that didn’t make it any less tragic. Certainly not when he’d heard the whispers of fifteen-year-olds dying.

“Bluemoon,” the officer said, turning to the kid, “make sure to pay special attention to Patrick over there.” He gestured vaguely at MatPat. “If you can get him to stop spilling tea and staying hours after his shift ends, then you’ll have done better than anyone else.”

“Yes, sir,” Bluemoon said gravely, and MatPat almost choked on his tea. The kid even  _ sounded _ young.

“If you can handle listening to him talk about his wife nonstop, you’ll have more patience than anyone else here!” Moore called from across the tent.

MatPat shrugged, raising his teacup in a sort of shrug. “You’re just jealous you didn’t marry the most amazing woman this world has to offer.”

Laughter rippled through the tent, and MatPat turned back to his work as their commander said something quietly to Bluemoon.

Bluemoon immediately walked over to him.

“I’m told you’re to show me what to do?” he asked quietly.

MatPat glanced at his nearly-empty teacup and shrugged, setting his work aside. “Sure, I guess.” He stood. “I’m going to make more tea, but you’re welcome to join me.”

Bluemoon nodded, following.

As the tea steeped, MatPat examined the young... man? in front of him.

“How old are you?” he asked, holding his cup between both hands in an effort to warm his half-frozen fingers.

“Seventeen, sir.”

“Oh, there’s absolutely no need to call me sir.” MatPat raised an eyebrow. “I’m not that old.”

“Of course, sir.”

MatPat shook his head, gaze flicking over the kid. “When was your birthday?” It couldn’t have been long ago. Bluemoon should still be in school, learning, or working at a grocery store, learning how to flirt… not enlisted in this war.

Bluemoon hesitated. “Last month, sir.”

“Last-” MatPat straightened, staring at Bluemoon incredulously. “Do your parents know you’re here?”

“Yes, sir. My father didn’t like it, but he knows.”

“And your mother?”

Bluemoon shook his head. “Irrelevant, sir.”

“Please stop calling me sir.” MatPat scratched at his chin, absently wishing he had his razor with him. He hadn’t gotten the chance to properly shave in a few days, and it was driving him insane. “Matthew is fine. Or MatPat, if you really must.” He raised an eyebrow, settling against the portable counter. “What’s your name?”

“Bluemoon.”

“Your first name. I might as well know it if we’re going to be working so closely together.”

Bluemoon hesitated. “Garuku. You can call me Gar.”

“Alright, then, Gar.” MatPat extended a hand. “Welcome to the team.”

Heaven help this poor kid.

♣♥♠♦

As young as Gar was, MatPat had to admit the kid was good at what he did. He was fairly slow at first, but he was efficient, and he was definitely learning fast. He’d also already managed to create an organization system for all the messages they were intercepting, and they’d already managed to decode several more than they usually would in the same time period.

He also figured out pretty quickly that there was nothing he could do to make MatPat retire for the day when he was supposed to—whether or not he knew MatPat’s reasoning was a different question entirely, since he didn’t ask, but MatPat supposed it didn’t really matter. He certainly wasn’t going to tell the kid his hopes of figuring out enough codes that it would actually make a difference and end the war early so he could go home to Steph and Gar could go home to his father.

On the other hand, MatPat mused as he stretched, his aching and half-frozen body protesting and stiff, if he told Gar, the kid might not argue with him so much. Not that Gar was exactly  _ arguing,  _ per se, but he was most definitely not one to put up with MatPat’s antics. Unfortunately for Gar, MatPat could put up antics all day long.

Gar set a new cup of tea down next to MatPat, and MatPat paused mid-stretch as he realized Gar wasn’t wearing any sort of gloves. He himself wore fingerless gloves so he could write properly, but they were certainly better than nothing.

“Gar?” He asked. “Do you not have gloves?”

Gar shook his head. “No.”

“Aren’t your hands cold?” They certainly looked cold, with how they were cracking and reddened.

A pause. “Would you believe me if I said no?”

MatPat shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Well, then there’s not much point in me answering, now is there.”

MatPat narrowed his eyes, reaching for his tea. “Thank you for the tea.”

“Of course.”

♣♥♠♦

MatPat wasted no time when his shift was over that day, instead rushing back to his bunk to write a letter to Stephanie. He knew the chances of Gar getting gloves from the army were extremely slim, but there  _ was _ a way he could guarantee the kid wouldn’t get frostbite and lose his fingers.

_ Stephanie,  _ he wrote by flickering lantern light, desperately trying to warm himself in his sheets and layers of clothing,  _ I know you’ve done so much for me, things I can never repay, but I have a favor to ask of you. _

He glanced up as Gar walked into the tent, dropping exhaustedly onto his own cot and rolling into sleeping bag and blankets, eyes immediately closing in sleep.

_ The kid I’ve been telling you about, Gar, he doesn’t have any gloves. I’m surprised he hasn’t suffered frostbite yet, but I’m worried he will. I know gloves take time, but I’m determined to help him keep the use of his fingers and hands—he’s going to need them in his life. _

_ For now, I think I’m going to force him to switch off with me and my gloves. It will be cold, but it’s better than either one of us going without gloves. Especially when I have tea I can warm my hands with. But if you could make, or even just find, gloves for him, it would be greatly appreciated. _

He turned the letter to lighter topics, responding to some of the things Steph had told him in her last letter, but his gaze kept drifting to the tightly bundled form of Gar on the other side of the tent.

♣♥♠♦

_ Late December _

MatPat struggled through the howling wind, clutching the packages and letters for his tent close as snow and hair alike whipped into his face. Just an hour ago, clear paths had been trampled through the snow, but they were hardly visible in the storm. Freshly fallen snow was falling further into the top of his boots. The storm was so heavy that they weren’t even getting any communications sent by their side, much less intercepting any of the other side’s.

They were grounded.

Fortunately, that meant the chances of anyone sneaking up on them were extremely low. This kind of weather risked more death to exposure than any sort of conflict, and since they were all sitting and trying to stay warm, if anything  _ did _ happen, then they would have plenty of men around to deal with it.

He stumbled into his tent with a grunt, almost falling into the clear space on the ground. Carlin immediately jumped up to fasten the canvas door closed, and MatPat took his first breath of air that was only freezing for the first time in nearly an hour.

“Y-you made it,” Gar breathed, the air in front of his face clouding even inside the tent. “We were getting w-worried.”

MatPat nodded, taking a deep breath to try and clear the feeling of frozen lungs. He took a few slow steps to his cot, gently setting down the packages and letters next to him.

“It’s- c-cold.” The words lodged in his throat, too frozen to come out without him pushing them, taking far more of his air than he really had to spare. He closed his eyes, putting all of his focus on getting air back in his lungs, even if each breath was agony across his cracked lips.

Gar stood from his cot, bundling a blanket in his arms. With a few quick strides, he was sitting next to MatPat, pulling the blanket over both of them and sitting close.

MatPat opened an eye and glanced at him.

“It’ll help warm you up faster,” Gar said by way of explanation. He laughed softly, a sharp sound as likely to fracture as the ice around them. “I’ve done it before.”

“Oh? What’s the story behind this?” Carlin asked, coming forward and starting to sort through the mail from home. “Care to share?”

“Uh-” Gar shivered, and MatPat shifted to force Gar to lean into him more, revealing just how frightfully cold the young man was. “S-sure. W-when I was eleven, my dad’s work h-had a party, for New Year’s, and he took me. I played with a boy a f-few years older than I was, and we ended up walking along the river early in the morning.” Gar swallowed, and when he spoke again his voice was slightly steadier. “H-he ended up in the water, and in order to keep him warm until he woke up, people took turns next to him.”

“Well, Patrick, is it helping?” Lee called from the other side of the tent.

MatPat flexed his fingers slightly, surprised at the sensation that bloomed across them. “Y-yeah. I think it is.”

Carlin held a small package out to MatPat, then slid a letter and a slightly smaller package to Gar.

“Oh?” Gar picked up the package. “What’s this?”

“Gotta open it to find out.”

Carlin sat next to them while they all opened their mail, and MatPat slowly grew comfortably warm, even with his breath clouding in the air in front of him.

He slowly opened his package, setting the neatly folded paper to the side in favor of holding up the green knitted scarf waiting for him.

Fantastic.

He threw it over his shoulders, turning his attention to the letter.

_ Matthew, _

_ I have never knit so much in my entire life before. I’m not touching needles or yarn for at least a year. I almost didn’t have time to finish your scarf, with Gar’s gloves taking so much time, but I did it!  _

The letter went on for several pages, talking about Boston and the kitten Stephanie had found in a crate in an alley (a cat she desperately wanted to keep). She’d already named him Skip. Even when she fed him, he complained for more food.

MatPat loved Skip already.

“Oh!” Gar breathed out, and MatPat glanced over to see the package Steph had sent the teenager sitting in his lap, his cracked and bleeding fingers gently tracing over the knitted gloves. “They- they look like yours.” He looked up at MatPat with the widest smile he’d seen on the kid in ages. “Your wife made me some gloves.”

MatPat grinned back at him. “I told her you didn’t have any and she decided to resolve that.” He looked at the gloves. “Go ahead, put them on.”

The gloves were perhaps a bit large on Gar, and bulky, but the thick blue and gray wool fit smoothly, covering all but the tips of his fingers. It wouldn’t stop all of the cold, certainly, but it was significantly better than no gloves at all. For having such little time, Steph had come through remarkably well.

“What’s this?” Gar said softly, examining the gloves. He touched the back of his hand, examining the button on the glove. His eyes widened, and he undid it, revealing a little cap. He gasped softly, then pulled it over his fingers, turning the fingerless glove into a mitten, where it was secured in place by a loop of yarn going over a discreet button on his wrist. “That’s amazing!”

“I’ve been telling you, I have the best wife in the world.” MatPat grinned broadly.

“Oh  _ come on,” _ Lee groaned from across the tent, a sentiment echoed by Moore.

MatPat chuckled, returning to reading his letter. Halfway through, Gar got up, saying something quietly to some of the others, and they began moving around. MatPat just pulled the blanket tighter around himself and kept reading—they’d call him if they needed him.

When he looked up, five of the six cots in the tent had been pushed to the center, under the highest point of the canvas. He was sitting on the sixth.

“What’re we doing?” He carefully stood, the blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders.

“It’s awfully cold,” Lee explained, “and I’d rather not get frostbite.” He grinned unsteadily at MatPat. “Gar suggested we push everything in the middle and sleep closer together. Keep each other warm with body heat.”

“We’ll have to take turns sleeping on the outside, since that’s going to be considerably colder,” Gar said, “but hopefully we’ll all sleep better.”

MatPat nodded, looking at his own cot. “Alright. Let’s do that.”

♣♥♠♦

_ November 11, 1918 _

The work tent was cold, the sort of cold that sank into your bones and started freezing your blood. Even the steaming tea in MatPat’s teacup could only do so much—and it had already been watered down three times in an effort to conserve their limited supplies.

MatPat huddled deeper into his coat, resolving to write another thank-you to Steph for the scarf, as it was all that was standing between him and freezing to death with how worn his coat had gotten. Wearing it constantly did that.

He took a moment to breathe before turning his attention back to the message he was transcribing from shorthand to send to various commanders in the camp.

“Matthew?”

Gar leaned down next to MatPat, now-threadbare gloves pulled as snugly as possible on his hands. He was careful to avoid putting a hand on the fresh ink, even though it meant his arm pressed up against MatPat’s.

“Yeah?”

“It’s two in the morning.”

MatPat let out a long breath, staring down at the message, dimly lit by the flickering lantern a few desks away. “Has the night shift arrived?”

“One. The other two got trapped. The snow collapsed their tent. They’ve got a few broken bones being set right now.”

MatPat nodded slowly, moving away from the message. His joints protested motion at all, and his expression must have been pained, as Gar put a hand on his shoulder and allowed him to lean on him as he got up.

“How are the armistice negotiations going?” MatPat asked, slowly limping along as his joints began to unhappily thaw. “Any news?”

“Matt- you’re the one who just pulled a 20-hour shift. You’d literally be the first to know.”

MatPat grinned shakily, even though his lips cracked from the cold. “Yeah, I guess so.” He grimaced as his shoulder popped, relief rushing through the joint. “I think I should have moved a while ago.”

Gar glanced at him, clearly irritated. “Yeah. You should have.” He sighed, pausing to tug his beanie down more firmly on his head. “Come on.”

They made their way into the night snow, moving slowly.

“You know,” Gar teased, “you move a lot like an old man for someone who’s only 25.”

“I’m  _ almost _ 26, I’ll have you know.” MatPat grunted as snow fell into his boots. “It makes a world of difference.”

“Ah, yes, clearly.” Gar rolled his eyes. “And I’m 18, but that makes me not an expert in these things, if I’m to believe you.”

“These things being?”

“Being old.”

MatPat scoffed. 

They walked in silence for a few more moments.

“What are you going to do when we’re sent home?” MatPat glanced down at the shorter man. “What’re your plans?”

“I don’t know,” Gar admitted. “Get settled back into normal life, I guess.” He shook his head. “Last letter I got from my dad, he was moving for a better job, so I better hope he manages to pack and take all of my stuff.”

“Any career ideas?”

Gar looked over at him thoughtfully, then nodded slightly. “Yeah. I’m thinking about becoming a detective. There’s this guy I admire who’s one. He’s really dumb, though, and pulls stupidly long shifts that leave him so tired he has to be helped to bed.”

MatPat chuckled softly, though he couldn’t hide the broad grin on his face. 

“I don’t know if you can really count me as a detective,” he said amusedly, “since I haven’t yet actually logged any hours on the job.”

“But you have it waiting for you when you get to Boston.”

“Yeah. That I do.” MatPat smiled softly. “I’m really looking forward to seeing Stephanie- I miss her so much.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” Gar grinned at him. “Maybe one day you can introduce me to her properly.”

MatPat nodded. “Sure thing. If you’re ever in Boston, find me and we’ll have you over for dinner.”

“Only if I get to share Italian food with you.”

“Oh, I’ve had it. Steph’s Italian.” He scratched the back of his head. “It’s good, don’t get me wrong, but when her parents visit it gets to be a bit much.”

“They just love you is all.”

MatPat nodded a few times. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But sometimes I just want a hotdog sandwich.”

Gar hummed slightly in agreement. “They’re really not bad.”

“Exactly.”

Gar helped MatPat into their tent, then helped him sit gently on the cots, all still pushed into the middle—by the time spring and summer had rolled around, they were all used to the physical contact, and then it was second nature when the cold came again. It was a small blessing in a world torn by violence and hate.

“So,” MatPat murmured, careful to not wake the others as he struggled into dry clothes, “detective, huh? Just because of me?”

“Uh, well, no, not entirely.” Gar’s voice was muffled as he pulled off his soaked coat. “There’re a few other reasons, but... I have to talk to my dad about them.”

“Perfectly understandable.” He pulled a dry shirt on. “Maybe you should take a few years to really think about it. You see a lot of things as a police officer, and it’s impossible to unsee them.”

“I’ve been in a war by now. I think I’ve seen a lot.”

“Yeah.” MatPat sighed heavily. “Yeah. But there’s... something different about it. War is war, everyone knows it’s awful, but seeing how brutally people can treat each other in their own homes...” He shook his head. “I just... think on it, okay? Take a few years, work as a grocer or something while you get your feet back under you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Gar hesitated for a long second, to the point where MatPat looked over at him. “Matthew- do you think if I ever got to Boston... I could be a detective there with you?”

“I suppose it’s possible.” MatPat started pulling on a fresh pair of socks, ones that weren’t soaked and frozen. “I don’t know what precinct I’m in yet, though, and Boston’s a pretty big place.”

MatPat paused, but Gar remained silent, so he continued.

“You’d have to start as a regular officer. The only reason I got straight in was ‘cause I already had the street experience back home.”

“...So if I got on the force in my hometown? Do you think they’d let me transfer?”

MatPat shrugged. “Probably? A big city like that is always hiring officers for some reason or another. But are you sure? Boston sees a lot more action than a little town.”

“Yeah. I know. I just visited it a few times as a kid, and I liked it.”

MatPat pulled himself onto his cot, ready to sleep. “Well, as long as you think it over thoroughly, then I don’t see why not.” He pulled his blanket over himself, shifting so there was a space for Gar to lay on the cot pile next to him. “Get some sleep, Gar. We’ve got more messages in the morning.”

“Mmhm.” Gar laid down next to MatPat, unflinching as MatPat shifted more into a more comfortable position, even though it put the two of them cuddling. “Maybe soon we’ll get one about the war ending.”

“I hope so. I really do.”

The thought of seeing Stephanie lingering in his mind, MatPat closed his eyes and slept.

The next night, they’d get the news of the armistice, and all through the camp grown men would shed tears of relief. They’d soon find out who would be sent home first (Gar before MatPat, though he had further to travel and they’d arrive home at about the same time) and the camp would be alight in excitement for the simple monotony of a normal life, for the love of wives and children and parents and siblings, for being  _ home. _

But that night, that night they slept with hopes in their hearts and dreams for the future dancing through their minds.


End file.
